


An Opportunity

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s01e12 Code Breaker, M/M, POV Alternating, Peter is a good Alpha at least, Season 1, Slow Burn, Stiles accepts the bite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: "Yes, but on one condition," Stiles blurts out and it's like he almost surprises himself with his answer, but the pieces slide into place and Stilesknowsthat this is the right decision. He's going to do the right thing here. And if he plays his cards right, maybe he can help contain the damage like an oil spill.





	An Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> Our art and prompt were from [Penumbria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbria/pseuds/penumbria)! We thought the idea was super cool (because who hasn't thought about Stiles accepting the Bite from Peter?). As much as we would have liked Peter and Stiles to go galavanting off into the sunset as new pack bros, we took a more realistic slower approach to things. Hope you still like it!
> 
> Many thanks @ [Lavanderlotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion) for doing a great job running this Bang, too! 
> 
> Make sure you check out the other fics/art as there were definitely some awesome ideas floating out there :D ♥

Stiles is still trying to come to grips with that fact that Peter Hale - Peter who turns into some big bad hairy wolf thing, Peter who's the Alpha who bit Scott - doesn't consider himself to be the bad guy here… but Stiles _had_ tracked Derek on Scott's laptop. He'd done what Peter had wanted, and Peter hasn't killed him. Of course Peter had smooshed his Jeep's keys like an asshole, but Stiles is still standing and breathing and decidedly _not_ smooshed himself. That counts for a lot considering just who and what Peter is.

On the field, over Lydia's bloody and hurt body, Peter had called him the clever one. Stiles doesn't know if he feels very clever right now, because he's afraid for Derek and Scott. He's afraid for Lydia and his Dad. And maybe there's a bit of fear for Jackson too because Peter _is_ dangerous. Peter has killed people and he doesn't seem very repentant over that fact either. Peter is going to kill more, but--

 _'Only the responsible ones.'_ Peter had said.

Responsible for _what_ , exactly? Stiles doesn't feel like he has all the information to make the best or right decisions and he absolutely hates that. It's the worst.

And Peter apparently _likes_ him. Huh. Stiles isn't sure what to make of that, but it's probably not a good thing.

"Do you want the Bite?" Peter then asks, completely casual, like it's not some life-altering decision in the least.

The question has Stiles shocked and incredulous. Had he heard correctly? He's never had problems with his hearing before, but there's a first time for everything. "What?" Is all he can answer with.

"Do you _want_ the _Bite_?" Peter repeats, with careful enunciation. "If it doesn't kill you - and it could - you'll become like us."

"Like _you…_ "

"Yes, a werewolf," Peter answers, starting to sound exasperated (which Stiles is pretty sure isn't a good thing).

"Would you like me to draw you a picture?"

Peter steps closer to him and Stiles _should_ back away, but he doesn't.

"That first night in the woods, I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could've easily been you. You'd be every bit as powerful as him. No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger, and quicker, more popular, watching him get the girl… You'd be equals."

And Stiles is pretty sure that, right now, Peter delivering this almost-pitch is like the serpent in the Garden of Eden trying to get Eve to eat the apple. _'Do you want the Bite?' 'Do you want this delicious apple?' 'It's a deal of the century, now or never!'_

"--Or maybe _more_." Peter reaches out and grabs his wrist. The grip is forceful, but it doesn't exactly hurt. Stiles' arm is raised and Peter's head leans in.

Stiles knows what he _should_ say. It should be a _no_. Being a werewolf isn't everything Peter is making it out to be. Stiles has seen some of the crap that Scott has gone through. There are no easy fixes in life anyway and the Bite wouldn't solve everything--

"Yes or no?" Peter asks, almost deceptively soft and lulling. How can someone who does such monstrous things sound like this too? It shouldn't work, but it somehow does.

Stiles' pulse speeds up, he's breathing quicker. Everything fades around him. Stiles' eyes are wide and locked onto Peter who now leans closer before turning to his wrist, fangs suddenly sliding out and making an appearance. There should be fear because Stiles knows what those fangs can do, but he doesn't think he feels afraid.

"Yes, but on one condition," Stiles blurts out and it's like he almost surprises himself with his answer, but the pieces slide into place and Stiles _knows_ that this is the right decision. He's going to do the right thing here. And if he plays his cards right, maybe he can help contain the damage like an oil spill.

\---

Peter stops leaning in toward Stiles' wrist. For one moment, he goes still, fangs extended but eyes darting to look at the boy. Something flickers behind them, something calculating and assessing, and then Peter leans back just enough to make a point. His fangs ache as he forces them away; it takes considerably more effort than he'd expected it to, especially with Stiles' pulse racing in his ears.

"Condition," Peter repeats flatly. His grip on Stiles' wrist doesn't ease, but the persuasive tone in his voice is gone, replaced with something bordering on suspicion. Stiles _is_ the clever one, after all. "What condition?"

"I'll join your pack. _Willingly,_ " Stiles says, his eyes hard. Peter straightens. "I'll be your Beta, but you need to leave Scott alone. He'll never go along with you anyway, you'd just be wasting your time. But I need to know what's going on - who you're killing and _why_ 'cuz they had better deserve it. If you want to convince me you're not the bad guy here, prove it."

Peter pulls away from Stiles' wrist fully. For a long moment, he just looks at Stiles, something both bitter and disappointed flashing in his eyes.

"You haven't figured it out yet," Peter says dryly. It's supposed to be a question, but it falls flat. _Conditions_ are dangerous, no matter how appropriate they might be. "Haven't noticed any patterns, Stiles? Nothing rattling around in that big brain of yours?"

Stiles' eyes narrow at the challenge. He doesn't reply immediately, but it does appear that he's trying to work it out. "The Hale fire," Stiles offers up. "It wasn't an accident, right? It was arson. Deliberate, like an attack. You wanna kill those responsible for it."

"Well, look at _you_." Peter's grip on Stiles' wrist tightens for a second, but the fine protest of tendons grinding under his hand reminds him to relax his hold. He hadn't been wrong in assuming _Stiles_ the smart one. "That bus driver, Garrison Myers? He used to work as an insurance investigator. One of his last official cases was the Hale fire. Strange how it was ruled as an accident."

There's a quick flash of something akin to surprise that passes over Stiles' expression, but Peter heads him off before he can say anything. Stiles had asked for information as his condition. He can honor fine print when necessary.

"Unger and Reddick - the two nobodies in the woods on that night that you and Scott tried to get pitifully drunk - they _set_ the fire."

"What--"

"--But they weren't responsible," Peter cuts back in, squeezing Stiles' wrist again. "No. See, your chemistry teacher? He confirmed it for me; he _taught_ her how to get away with murder, literally. That's why you should always be careful, Stiles. Don't get taken in by a pair of soft brown eyes. See the _real_ monsters? They're the ones who like to hide. They like their masks, their games."

There's a wince on Stiles' face as Peter steps in closer. Still, Stiles doesn't try to fight to reclaim his wrist. To his credit, despite his confusion and alarm, he stands there, brow furrowed, but expression intent.

"What are you talking about?" Stiles asks, his voice perhaps not as strong as he'd have liked. "Who was responsible?"

"Kate Argent."

The tightness in Stiles' wrist goes lax and there's a twist of bitter satisfaction in Peter's eyes when Stiles looks up at him, brow furrowed. Peter's lips pull into a mirthless smile, but to Stiles' credit, he meets Peter's eyes directly, shocked but still searching. Searching for truth, perhaps for answers.

"She killed my family. Burned them alive. Locked the escape routes, and burned everyone trapped inside. Man, woman, and child," Peter says tightly. "Did you know that not every child born to werewolf parents turns out to _be_ a werewolf, Stiles? There were humans in the fire that day, too. All dead. _She_ is who I hold responsible."

There's a beat, just one, where something flickers behind Stiles' eyes, something that looks uncomfortably like pity. Peter exhales sharply through his nose. He's never liked the scent of pity.

"So. It's your choice, Stiles. Say 'no' and I'll leave you here. _Just_ as you are. But say 'yes' and you have a chance to be like me. Like Scott and Derek. To be something else. But if it hinges on whether or not you think I'm justified in my crusade, you have the information now. You can make an informed decision. So… what'll it be? Yes, or no?"

\---

_'Yes, or no?'_

It's such a ridiculously simple question when phrased like that, but Stiles is making a decision that's going to change his entire life _forever_. He hadn't expected to do that tonight, okay. The decisions he'd been thinking about before were like, what kind of grades he'd need to make to get into the college of his choice and how he wanted to stay near his Dad and Scott and if he could ever win Lydia over before she went away for school…

This is something else entirely.

But Peter's provided the necessary information for him. Peter explained the fire and although Peter's name dropped his victims and how they were involved, Stiles is pretty sure the school's janitor and the nurse _hadn't_ been evil and yet he'd killed them. Peter doesn't seem like a bloodthirsty lunatic though. Maybe those were a one-off. Err, a two-off?

Maybe Stiles can keep Peter on the straight and narrow. Maybe Peter just needs someone on his side, someone to be responsible to _and_ for. A real pack. There are a lot of maybes and would Stiles even be able to do all of that? He knows Scott isn't going to be that someone. As good as Scott is, he's head over heels in love with Allison and he's idealistic. Scott could never understand what it would be to _really_ lose family.

"Okay, yes," Stiles murmurs with a short nod.. "But we do this together. You don't bite and leave me." He has no plans on being like Scott in that way.

There's only a second's pause before Peter tips his head to the side. Stiles is pretty sure it's supposed to be a nod.

"Fair enough."

Peter's fangs slide out and Stiles' mouth parts in a silent gasp. Instead of biting through Stiles' dress shirt (like Stiles had expected him to do previously), Peter reaches out with his other hand and pushes Stiles' sleeve up, exposing a pale wrist.

Then Peter's mouth descends upon his wrist but it's not pain that Stiles feels. No, it's the faintest graze of lips first and Stiles shivers, momentarily confused, his heart thudding away in his chest.

A sharp pain follows when Peter goes for it, fangs puncturing his skin and Stiles winces as he hisses. It burns, but it's not horrible. Peter's fangs are sharp enough that they don't rip or tear at Stiles' skin, but Stiles' pulse is suddenly racing.

There's no going back from this. An Alpha werewolf - _Peter_ \- has just bitten him and Stiles had allowed it - had agreed to it. (Had _wanted_ it, a voice whispers in his mind.)

It feels like a roar crashing inside his head. Transfixed, Stiles doesn't dare move or say anything.

Maybe no one will understand why he's done this. Maybe this was a mistake, but Stiles knows that he'd tried to make the best decision available to him.

What's likely only a few seconds later, Peter pulls away, lips and teeth bloody, eyes glinting red and looking like ever-the-proper monster.

But Stiles isn't afraid. The wound throbs on his wrist, undeniable proof of what's just happened.

"I'm not going to be dying from this," Stiles states as Peter releases his wrist and Stiles pulls down his sleeve. Blood is already dotting the white fabric. "So, you're stuck with me. We're stuck with each other."

It feels important to say this. Stiles looks up, meeting Peter's eyes, and there's a defiant glint in them despite his apprehension about, well, everything.

"I sincerely hope that we are," Peter says, and Stiles blinks, caught off guard. Peter seems to understand the look in his eyes, because as Peter lifts a hand to his face and swipes a thumb at the blood on his lower lip ( _Stiles'_ blood…) he lets his eyes dim back to their normal blue.

"I like you, Stiles. I wouldn't have offered this otherwise. I don't know what conclusions you've drawn, but I _don't_ abandon my Betas."

Despite the racing beat of Stiles' pulse, there's a note of sincerity in Peter's voice. Stiles isn't stupid; he knows that Peter is dangerous. But as he stands there, wrist bleeding, he has to wonder if Peter _is_ as bad as he'd thought. His stomach twists when he thinks about Lydia, but maybe...

Stiles may be young, he's not even eighteen yet, not even old enough to buy cigarettes or alcohol, but he gets that this is serious. Because Stiles has this twinge in his gut that if he can reel Peter in and maybe even help him, that the collateral damage going forward will be a lot less and if that's the case, isn't Stiles responsible to do whatever he can?

Maybe it's not too late to save Peter. Yeah, it's another big list of maybes, but it's what Stiles has right now.

"But you're not a Beta _yet_ ," Peter then says before shoving Stiles back. Stiles nearly stumbles. As he attempts to right himself, Peter gets into the car - yeah, the dead nurse's car - and proceeds to start it.

Stiles blinks rapidly, awkwardly standing in the garage as Peter drives off. Without him. Stiles does know where Peter is going, but he's got to check on Lydia and his Dad first.

As Stiles takes off in a run, he does breathe out an, "Asshole," under his breath.

\---

The blood on Peter's lips lasts only a few minutes at most, but it might as well last for hours. He can taste it, a faint tinge on the air with every breath as the pins all fall and the pieces slot into place. Hours might as well be seconds as the night progresses, but no matter how fixated Peter might be on what needs to be done, the tinge of Stiles' blood lingers on his lips with every inhale.

It's proof. _Solid_ , undeniable proof that he has a Beta who'd _chosen_ to become one.

He could cite Stiles' decision as selfishness, as the gift that Peter had intended it as. A present for being helpful. But as Peter follows the distant sounds of Derek's howling, as he heads Scott off at the pass and claws through the lock that leads to the escape tunnels under the Hale house, he can feel that Stiles' choice isn't so simple. There's a different weight to it, a heaviness that feels like claws embedded into his instincts, almost identical to the feeling that cuts through him when Derek looks up sharply from where he's been chained.

The hunter guarding Derek goes down without a fight, caught off guard, and there's wary gratitude in Derek's eyes when Peter claws through the cuffs locking him in place.

Thoughts of Stiles fade into the background as Derek dresses, but the aftertaste of blood on Peter's lips doesn't fade. They don't say much. Derek gets dressed as quickly as he can and Peter tears apart the wires after unplugging them, just to be safe. Derek's gaze hardens; they'd likely been used on him more than once over the last few hours.

"Did you see her?" Derek finally asks.

Peter shakes his head. "She'll come. Scavengers always come back to where they buried their last meal. I hope you're not entertaining any fanciful notions of mercy, Derek. You know how this ends."

Derek looks down. Something complicated flickers behind his eyes, but when he looks up again, his expression is firm.

"Yeah," he says. "I do. Where's Scott?"

"Coming. Likely to get you." Peter jerks his chin toward the door. "After you."

Derek winds up needing help, but Peter supports him as they make their way out of the tunnel and into the charred skeleton of their old house. Peter gets him settled and Derek's claws dig into the leather of Peter's jacket as he takes a heavy seat on the staircase. It's likely the first time that Derek's been allowed to rest since this began. Peter's hand finds Derek's nape, the barest touch of acknowledgement, and Derek seems to sag under his hand.

Everything is fine up until the moment it's not. Until the moment that Scott stumbles into the open what _feels_ like an hour later. Peter catches a scent upon the air, Derek stiffens, and before Peter can bite out a warning, so caught in that damnable _scent_ , Derek's standing, snarling, and racing out the front door.

"Scott, get down!" Peter hears Derek yell as if from a great distance.

Then the world outside of the window goes blindingly white.

\---

Finding his Dad at the hospital corroborates Peter's story. Stiles can't claim to be surprised, but the rational part of his brain will always crave evidence. Lydia doesn't look great, but there's nothing that Stiles can do. She doesn't seem to be like, on the verge of death. That's something positive.

If the wound heals, she'll be a werewolf, but that apparently doesn't happen right away. It's going to be a waiting game. He'll have to check on her later and hope for the best.

Stiles is all set to head to the crispy and charred Hale house with the help of Jackson when Mr. Argent = Beacon Hill's resident werewolf hunter - just so happens to pay them a visit, apparently looking for Scott. Eerily, this is going along with what Peter had said. Scott's in danger.

But Stiles sees an opportunity here because Argent doesn't seem like some freak with a monster killing fetish - he seems like someone who actually _wants_ the truth. Honestly, when Stiles brings up the fact that it would be possible for a certain somebody to break the hunter's code, it looks like things slide into place for Argent.

When Jackson and he are let go, Argent looks like a man on a mission. Stiles hopes he gets the facts straightened out because he really doesn't want to go up against hunters, too.

The drive isn't especially _nice._ Dealing with Jackson is, predictably, a lost cause but Stiles focuses on speeding and not crashing. He needs to make sure that only the responsible ones are held accountable. He needs to make sure Scott and Derek are safe.

He needs to make sure that Peter doesn't go off the rails.

\---

Scott and Derek go down, Derek with the scent of blood on the air, and Scott reeking of fear. When he hears Kate's voice, blood roars in Peter's ears, eclipsing all else, but he's not suffered for six years only to be sloppy when it matters.

Derek's heartbeat is still strong, if quick, his scent thick with pain but Peter stays where he is. He closes his eyes, fangs pricking at his lips, and as the seconds count down, Peter readies himself… but it becomes quickly apparent that it's not just Kate Argent in toe with her little bow-wielding niece that he'll have to contend with. No, it's one Chris Argent as well. Turns out he's going to have quite the audience for this show - suits him just fine. He spares a thought for Stiles, wondering if he'd be brave or stupid enough to show (and possibly wondering if Stiles will stay true to his word).

But he's the Alpha and it really is no struggle to separate the weapons from their pesky humans. Argent is on his knees, down but not out, all the children are fearful but Peter only has eyes for Kate. Revenge had kept him focused, but there is relief pounding in his veins at being so close to finishing his goal.

In the distance, Peter hears two sets of footsteps approach - humans, running, one more awkwardly than the other. He knows Stiles' awkward gait, and it appears that he's brought a friend with him. Apparently his audience will be growing.

Argent spins, hand reaching out, but his gun is too far away. It gives Peter the time he needs to whirl around, and in a flash, he's got Kate's wrist in one hand. She struggles, snarls, and does her best to kick out at him, but he feels oddly calm. Her arm snaps like a twig under his hands, and as she screams, he pulls her against his chest and backs up the stairs with Kate pinned against him, a clawed hand posed over her throat. Allison makes a shrill, annoying sound, her hand outstretched as if she could magically help her aunt escape - as if she was _strong_ enough. It's pitiful.

Jackson happens upon them - Stiles' plus one presumably - and soon after, Stiles stumbles onto his stage of sorts. Stiles freezes, and Peter sees understanding flash in his eyes. Peter pays no attention to Scott or Jackson; he only shoots Stiles a cursory look before directing his gaze back to Allison. Cold rage coils in his chest.

"She is beautiful, Kate. She looks like you," Peter comments, and it's amazing how steady his voice is, how calm rage can make one feel. "Probably not as damaged. So I'm going to give you a chance to save her."

Peter can feel the pounding of Kate's pulse under his claws. Her fear tastes bitter on the air, but Peter breathes it in. The echo of his pack's screams ring in his ears, and he presses his claws closer to her throat. Her pulse speeds, and it's for them.

"Apologize," Peter rasps, voice no longer steady. His gaze locks on Allison, on her fear, on the despair in her eyes. "Say that you're sorry for _decimating_ my family, for leaving me burned and broken for six years. Say it - and I'll let her live."

True to his word, Stiles does not protest. He makes no effort to stop Peter, but Peter can hear Stiles' pulse pounding, he can feel Stiles' focus and, dare he say it, expectation? It doesn't shake his resolve in what he must do. Peter's owed this.

Kate shakes against him, whether from fear or from pain, but it doesn't matter. Peter waits, almost hoping that Kate _doesn't_ say it. Because then he'd have an excuse… But Peter feels her throat work, feels her swallow shakily, and feels the vibrations of her answer through his claws, all the way through to his heart.

"I'm sorry."

Peter closes his eyes. Rage twists like fire under his skin, like six _years_ of torture, like the screams of children and the immolation of fire. He tenses and feels Kate do the same, and when Peter's claws suddenly curl viciously, his eyes open and lock onto Allison's. Grief for grief.

He cuts Kate's throat. Her blood spills out over his hand, hot and pulsing, and it's like a thread has been cut inside of him. He hears Argent's pulse quicken, hears Allison's clipped cry, _sees_ the agony strike her, and when Kate's body falls to the floor, lifeless and still, Peter looks down at her. He stares, unseeing for a moment, pulse deafening in his own ears.

Then he looks back up at Allison, slow, blood hot and pounding. He sees her grief, sees her anger, and sees the same horrible potential he'd seen in Kate Argent. His expression slowly hardens.

"I don't know about you, but that apology didn't strike me as very sincere…"

\---

Stiles watches, his hands by his sides. His palms are sweaty. The blood on his wrist is dried. He hasn't looked at the wound since pulling down his sleeve in the garage. He's kind of here to police Peter, but he's pretty sure his Dad wouldn't be proud because Stiles had made no move to _stop_ Peter.

Now Kate Argent, her neck torn out and bleeding, has crumpled to the dirt like a human-sized ragdoll. Stiles isn't sure he knows what's appropriate to feel or not feel right now. He's just witnessed a death. Worse than that, he'd _condoned_ it. He understands it and that's messed up. Does that mean _he's_ messed up?

Peter's killed the ring leader, but he's suddenly advancing on Allison and no. Nope. Not going to happen. Not on his watch.

"Hey!" Stiles shouts, adrenaline coursing through him as he makes a beeline to intercept Peter before getting to Allison.

Thankfully, Peter doesn't bowl him over. He could have. Peter could have thrown him or shoved him. Instead, Peter stops and Stiles' hands shoot out and he grabs onto Peter's prissy red shirt. He can't shake Peter, but he still tries.

" _Not_ the bad guy, remember?" Stiles hisses, eyes imploring. He really hopes that he's not going to get killed now. That would suck. He's gotta reach Peter. He's gotta clue him back in. " _She_ didn't do anything to your family. _She_ 's not the one responsible." Although, Stiles had noticed her bow present and Derek looks like he's been shot, but relatively speaking, Allison is innocent - at least when compared to Kate.

Behind them, Stiles can hear Mr. Argent running over to Allison, talking low but quickly. Stiles can't hear what he's saying, but Stiles is focused on Peter. This is the moment. This is where he can do his part.

For an unsettlingly long moment, Peter doesn't look at him. He's looking over Stiles' shoulder, likely at Allison, but Stiles' grip stays firm. Stiles stands firm, trying not to shake, but it's hard. He's run into dangerous situations before, but this? This takes the cake.

He's not sure if it's his words, his touch, or his attempt to shake Peter, but _something_ finally makes Peter look down at him. Stiles tenses.

"She's an Argent," Peter says, and his voice sounds rougher, ragged. Rage, Stiles thinks. Rage that's trying to dress up as justification.

"And we're a pack," Stiles shoots back, the answer suddenly so obvious to him. "You kill her and you'd be putting us - you and me - in danger." He thinks this is a good angle to take.

"Stiles!? What the--" Scott tries to interject. Yeah, Stiles isn't looking forward to explaining himself to Scott - actually, to everyone who's witnessing this, but that's a later=problem, not a now-problem.

"Listen to the kid," Argent speaks up. "You've killed humans. The code dictates that we hunt you, but... there's extenuating circumstances. I understand that. We don't want a war. I think enough blood has been spilled here, wouldn't you agree?"

"Dad?" Allison asks, her voice small.

Stiles can't hear the sound, but there's a vibration under his hands. Growling, he realizes, as he watches Peter's eyes narrow. Time to try a different tactic.

"You're not the bad guy. Prove it to me," Stiles whispers, his fists clenching and tugging at Peter's shirt. It's both a challenge and a plea because he hopes he hasn't put his faith into some crazy rampaging wolf who's going to go kamikaze and murder any or all of his friends.

Peter's eyes glint red, and for a moment, Stiles' chest tightens. But before he can start to flinch back, before he can take it back and get away (or try), Peter finally looks down at him. Stiles can't read the look in his eyes, but he wishes he could; he only knows that it's complicated. And dangerous. Emphasis on the danger.

"Enough blood was spilled a _long_ time ago," Peter says tightly, and though Peter's clearly talking to Mr. Argent, he doesn't stop looking at Stiles. "I think this evened the score. Like I said… only the responsible ones."

"Only the responsible ones," Stiles echoes, as if in support.

Peter nods tightly, but Stiles doesn't look away from him. In a way, it feels like he's grounding Peter. Like him being there is actually making a difference and maybe he is. Maybe everything's going to be okay.

\---

It's not surprising that Argent gathers up his precious delicate whelp of a daughter and that they're hurriedly stalking off, clearly - for once - making the smart decision. Peter wonders if the Argents will attempt to clean this mess up and sweep it up under the rug and preserve Kate's supposed innocence. Likely. A nest of vipers, the lot of them.

"Stiles!" Scott squawks, attempting to beckon Stiles over. He's taken up vigil over Derek's form but seems hesitant to actually venture over and retrieve his friend. Figures. " _Stiles_! Get away from him."

The sound is enough to help Peter shake off the last vestiges of his lapse in control. He blinks, draws in a slow breath, and the red bleeds away from his eyes. Stiles remains by him, trembling hands clasped in his shirt. Interesting. Peter wonders if it's the flickering of a Beta's loyalty coming into existence or sheer stupidity. With Stiles, it's hard to tell.

"I'm going to need to iron that if you don't let go," Peter says mildly, watching as Stiles blinks up at him and then hastily relinquishes his attempt at a death grip on the shirt before taking a step back. Peter reaches up with his clean hand and fixes the lay of the buttons at his collar.

Jackson shifts, visibly uncomfortable and completely out of his element. "Now what?"

"We get out of here before the police arrive," Derek grinds out. He reaches out and pushes at Scott's chest, trying to struggle up onto his feet, ever stubborn. He smells like blood.

Peter nods, and while it's still clipped and while anger still burns in Peter's chest, it's distant, compartmentalized. He'd learned enough about that over the years.

"Right. Scott, take Derek to Deaton. Jackson, was it?" Peter adds, looking over at him. He takes silent pleasure in seeing Jackson stiffen. "You can drive them."

"I didn't sign up for--"

Peter doesn't let him finish. "No, but you might as well be of use."

"Hey, Stiles is coming with us," Scott abruptly states as he gets to his feet and attempts to put on a brave front. This coming from the guy with 'Allison' as his username and password... Now more than ever does Peter wish he had been more discerning that night in the woods.

"It's okay, man," Stiles says and he gives what looks like a thumbs up to Scott? It's juvenile, but it seems to ease some of Scott's worries so that's something. "Peter and I have some things to discuss. I'll fill you in later. I promise."

Scott looks between the two of them. There's something in his eyes, something briefly selfish, then something nervous. Peter catches the way that Scott looks off in the direction that the Argents had gone before Scott gives a shaky nod. Derek meets Peter's eyes only once, giving him an appraising - almost suspicious - look before he motions for Jackson and Scott to follow.

Each step that Derek takes looks like it takes monumental effort, but Peter focuses on breathing. The scent of blood is sharp on the air and when he looks back and sees Kate Argent's wide, dead eyes staring back up at him, bitter satisfaction twists in his chest. Peter feels flooded by it, by the knowledge that she's dead. That his claws had torn out her throat.

There's satisfaction and triumph in his chest, but without the rage, there's also an unpleasant hollowness, like the momentary lapse between one stair and the next. Peter breathes, blood dripping off of his hand, and as Scott turns and sends him another suspicious look, Peter forces a smile onto his lips.

"This isn't over," Scott warns.

Peter turns away from him. Whatever petty teenage troubles are on Scott McCall's mind, Peter has better things to do. He doesn't turn back until the engine of the Porsche purrs to life, and both he and Stiles watch the car drive off into the distance.

"That went better than expected."

Stiles shoots Peter a look. It's difficult to read, but Peter can sense tension in it. Stiles' pulse is still beating quickly, his breaths still sharp and stuttered. His hands are still trembling, though they've curled into fists at his side.

"You were going to kill Allison."

"Mm. I was."

"You said you'd _only_ kill the responsible ones."

Peter sighs. Blood drips off of his fingers, almost soothing. "Anger doesn't react in predictable ways, Stiles. It's complicated."

He considers ignoring the clipped sound that Stiles makes, but doesn't. Peter shakes his head and finally steps down off of the stairs, leaving Kate's crumpled body behind in a heap. Leave her to the worms. At least until the Argents decide to save their own skin.

"Only Kate is dead. Allison is fine." Though if he'd had his way… "It worked out."

"You are _so_ lucky I was here," Stiles finally bites out. There's a tremor to his voice, something halting, but he fights it back. After a moment, he follows Peter down the stairs.

He looks like he's in shock. Or at least rattled enough to make a difference. Peter considers him, looking from Stiles' shaking hands, to the red stain on Stiles' shirt sleeve, all the way up to the way that Stiles seems to be staring off into the distance.

Peter doesn't need to understand Stiles to understand this. He knows shock when he sees it, and despite how shaken _he_ feels, he has to hand it to Stiles. He'd gotten up into the face of an Alpha werewolf close to the full shift. He'd grabbed Peter's shirt and refused to let go.

Stiles Stilinski had talked Peter down from the edge, had focused him. Arguably, Peter wonders if Stiles didn't just save his life.

Without speaking, Peter turns. He reaches out, and though Stiles flinches away from him, Peter just takes Stiles' arm and lifts it. The scent of Stiles' blood is still on the air (and the taste on the back of Peter's tongue) but while Stiles makes a small sound of protest, he doesn't try to pull away.

Peter leans in, and though he doesn't roll Stiles' sleeve down, he does breathe in the scent under the fabric. It's sharp - the tang of platelets and iron in the blood - but while Peter doesn't smell rapid healing, nor does he scent the sourness of rejection. Too soon, then. Only time will tell.

"Come with me," he says, letting Stiles' wrist go.

"Come with--where? Where are we going?"

"To the car." Peter rolls his eyes, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket as he walks. Bit by bit, Kate's blood stains it, and he revels in the satisfaction. "Obviously. Tell me where you want me to drop you off, and I'll take you. It's the least I can do."

If Stiles is surprised, he hides it well. Peter still hears his pulse skip, still senses his conflict. Then Stiles hastens to fall into step beside him.

"Home," Stiles says definitively. "I need to pick up my spare keys for the Jeep and then you can drop me off at the garage because it's your fault that she's stranded there."

Peter unlocks the car.

\---

It's still pretty weird to be in a car that belonged to someone that's now deceased. Is the nurse still in the trunk? Stiles assumes that yeah, she probably is because Peter had more important things to deal with - namely saving Derek and taking care of Kate Argent.

Speaking of Kate Argent, they'd left her body back there and Stiles still doesn't know what he should be feeling. Before Scott had been bit, before Peter had started killing, the only death Stiles had to deal with had been his mom's and that had been what, natural? Medical in nature? Beacon Hills' most recent deaths have all been murders. Peter is technically a murderer… but getting into the passenger side and then fumbling with his seat belt, Stiles doesn't feel that he's in any danger.

"So… how soon will I know?" Stiles asks, attempting to be casual.

Peter doesn't look at him, but Stiles knows that he's paying attention. Peter begins driving. "Likely by morning. It typically takes up to twenty-four hours, but a night is often enough to know for sure."

Stiles gives a slow nod. Physically, he thinks he feels fine, but he doesn't know how he should feel about this either. He knows how Scott had acted the days after, but that's from an observational standpoint.

"If it didn't take," Stiles slowly begins. "What would be the symptoms?" It just makes sense that he ask. He needs to know. Honestly he hadn't been thinking that it _wouldn't_ work because the thought of dying soon or in the near future and leaving his Dad and friends is absolutely terrifying.

"Pain," Peter's voice cuts into his thoughts. How the guy can sound so nonchalant, Stiles doesn't know. "Typically excruciating. The bite on your wrist will still be there, and festering. Black blood. No mistaking it."

He's also asking for Lydia. Not that Stiles _wants_ her to be a werewolf - because she hadn't consented - but he doesn't want her to die either. Allison's dad had been right - there had been enough blood spilled. More than ever, Stiles wants everything to be _okay._ He knows that's a long shot because how can everything and everyone be okay after what's happened?

"It's either you die or bam, you're a werewolf then?" Maybe there's some happy medium? Maybe the Bite won't take but wouldn't kill you?

"Except in the case of extremely extenuating circumstances, yes."

"Oh," Stiles says, giving another slow nod. "Good to know." Because technically it is, even if it's bad news. It strikes him then that Peter seems a lot more willing to answer his questions than Derek had ever been. Peter is older and likely knows a lot of crap too. Stiles has always had _a ton_ of questions about the supernatural. Maybe if he makes it, maybe he can actually get some of those questions answered with Peter's help.

"For what it's worth," Peter says, and Stiles half-glances back at him, "I hope the Bite takes. After tonight, I think you'd make a good wolf."

"Oh," is all Stiles answers with because a part of him is kind of stunned, another part is almost touched and a third just has no idea if he should be worried instead.

The rest of the drive is silent and Stiles stares out of the window at the familiar landscape that's lit up by street lights. He's about to give Peter directions when it becomes all too clear that Peter actually knows where he's going. Creepy? Maybe. But Stiles stays quiet and when Peter pulls up in front of his house, Stiles undoes the seatbelt before he scratches at the back of his head.

"I'll be a few minutes, okay? Going to change too," Stiles explains as his hand goes to the door handle. He doesn't want to be in dress shoes, pants, shirt and a tie. He doesn't want to see the blood stain on the sleeve. "Don't leave."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Peter deadpans back. "It's not like I have anything better to do than play chauffeur."

Stiles scrambles out of the car and races to the door. He goes for the spare house key and lets himself in. Stiles is quick as he works the uncomfortable and now rather scuffed up dress shoes off. He's heading up to his room next, yanking off the tie and trying to unbutton the shirt, but his hands are shaking and his fingers are uncoordinated. He eventually gives up and just slips the shirt off. The pants follow.

He purposefully doesn't glance down at his wounded wrist. It feels warm, like it's radiating heat, but there's only a dull ache.

He throws on a comfy tee and then a hoodie over top of it to cover his wrist. He shoves the keys to the Jeep into his pocket and when he's back in the entryway, he slips on his sneakers. His phone has vibrated a few times, but Stiles doesn't want to deal with Scott yet. When he's in the safety of his own Jeep, he'll sort things out. For now, he's sticking with Peter and trying to navigate this.

\---

It doesn't take long for Stiles to make it back to the car. He's subdued - more so than Peter's seen up to that point, at least - but Stiles' engagement is not his concern. They don't say anything as Peter backs the car out of the driveway; Stiles just mechanically pulls his seatbelt back on and that sets the tone for the drive.

They both have a lot to work through. Peter's had years to think about this, but Stiles' choices had all happened within the span of a few hours. Peter can't give him assurances about whether he'll live to see the moon rise the next evening, but he can give Stiles the silence he needs to work through whatever's going on in his head. So he drives, and when he pulls the car back into the parking garage next to what apparently passes as a vehicle these days, Peter puts the car into park and then kills the engine.

Stiles looks as though he hasn't really been aware of the last few minutes. Peter glances over at the Jeep, then to its owner, but it isn't until Peter shifts to look at Stiles better that Stiles seems to come back to life.

"We're here," Peter says redundantly, one eyebrow lifting. He's gratified to see Stiles' expression tighten.

"Yeah…" Stiles replies, his hands going for the seatbelt and missing the release once before getting it. "Do you…" He tries, looking like he's attempting to get his courage up. "Can we exchange numbers or something? How do we do this?"

"We keep in contact like civilized…" Peter looks Stiles over once, thoughtful. No, not adults. That would imply an equality between them. "People. I told you, Stiles. If you live, I won't abandon you. I don't abandon pack. Here."

Peter leans across the small divide between them and watches Stiles press himself back against the passenger's seat just enough to almost be flattering. Rolling his eyes, he reaches for the glove compartment and pulls out his phone. Peter hands it to Stiles, pointedly.

"Put yourself in my contacts."

Stiles obliges, long fingers seeming to be able to remain steady enough for this task as he adds his contact information. Stiles returns the phone and then reaches into his own pocket to retrieve his cellphone. It's unlocked and then handed to Peter.

"Your turn," Stiles comments.

While it would be simpler just to send Stiles a text and leave him to input Peter's contact information on his own, Peter obliges. He inputs his information and then hands Stiles' phone back to him. Stiles takes it, almost on autopilot, and Peter sighs once, sharply.

"Text me in the morning when you know one way or another. You're strong, Stiles. Stronger than Scott. You should be fine."

Stiles leaves with a little wave of his hand, heading toward his vehicle, and Peter debates for a second whether or not he should wait to ensure Stiles' Jeep actually starts. In the end, he decides not to - Stiles isn't _his_ Beta yet to be concerned about.

\---

Stiles doesn't let himself watch as Peter drives off. He climbs into his Jeep but doesn't start it immediately. He sits there, in the familiar environment, and takes a breath. And then another. He keeps on breathing. He's not dying right now, but there's the huge mega issue of, if or how he tells his Dad and Scott about this.

He can't _not_ tell them, can he? What if they found him just dead in the morning, that'd be freakin' horrible. The worst. He'd be the worst person if he doesn't let them know.

But telling his Dad means exposing the Sheriff to the supernatural world… which would probably help given his work, but would his Dad even believe him? If Stiles does this he ends up outing Scott and Derek and Peter. Maybe he could use Scott as like, a demonstration-- but what if Scott doesn't want to help him?

Stiles shakes his hands as if he could shake his nerves right out of it. He starts his Jeep and heads home.

He's then texting Scott and inviting him over, saying that he'll explain everything and that he needs his help. Scott texts back that he'll be over soon, that he's currently with Allison and Stiles isn't surprised. The next message is off to his Dad, mentioning that he's okay and he's waiting up for him to get home.

While waiting, his thoughts flit around - to Lydia, to Scott, to Peter - to the dead body they'd left behind and even the one in Peter's trunk. He considers texting Peter but what would he even say? Would he report in that he's still alive and waiting? Somehow he thinks that if Peter were to even reply he'd be sarcastic and Stiles doesn't feel like dealing with that.

Peter wants nothing to do with him until he's an actual werewolf. It kinda stings, but what use would Stiles be if it didn't take and he died or if he was just a human? It kinda makes sense.

The talk with Scott isn't easy and it's super late in the night by the time his Dad gets home, but Stiles slogs through it and Scott helps, giving a little wolf out demonstration to prove to his Dad. Stiles mentions that Mr. Argent is probably someone that his Dad ought to talk to and his Dad just gives a weary nod. Stiles can see how much the news has worn on his Dad. He doesn't feel good about it.

Scott insists that he's staying over and that Stiles isn't going to die. Ever the optimist. Stiles can tell that Scott isn't happy with him for what he's done, but they're best friends through thick and thin, and Scott isn't going to desert him now. Stiles did it _for_ Scott, but he knows that Scott won't understand that this was Stiles' attempt at minimizing damage.

Stiles notices that Scott keeps giving him looks but there's nothing really to say. They have to wait. He does end up showing Scott the bite mark before he climbs into bed.

Stiles knows that Scott can hear him tossing and turning, uncomfortable and afraid, but Scott doesn't call him out on it. Scott just remains on an air mattress on the floor, present and with Stiles. It helps a little, but when facing possible death or turning into a supernatural creature, there's not much support anyone can give.

It feels like Stiles only sleeps only for little pockets of time, his fists bunched into his blankets as he resists checking the Bite. He has a feeling that this is the kind of thing that happens when no one is looking.

\---

It's a long night. There's something about the culmination of long-laid plans finally coming to fruition that leaves the rest of the world feeling bleak. There's a high, a rush of power, a justification, a rush of righteousness.

Then there's nothing. Nothing at all. A bleak hole left behind where all that rage still twists and coalesces and knots itself up in one's chest. Peter isn't stupid enough to think he'll escape unscathed, but when he watches the phone of his screen dim on its homepage for the fifth time since arriving at the damnable vet's office, he knows the numbness is setting in. He hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Kate Argent is dead, her body left strewn like the filth it is on the floor of the house that she'd turned to ash under her fingertips. Six long years of torture and rage have met their end, but life hasn't wrapped itself up into a neat little bow.

Peter's thumb slips down over the screen of his phone again and Stiles' contact lights up under it, bright in the darkness. Peter looks down at it, contemplative.

There's no telling whether or not Stiles will live. On one hand, Peter can't say he'd be that bothered, but on the other, he suspects that it's a lie. In the mindlessness of instinct, Peter had done everything in his power to engage Scott, to entice him into joining the pack, but every attempt had been met not with ignorance, but rejection. Truthfully, he'd expected nothing different from Stiles. Intelligence doesn't always mean bravery, after all. Stiles could have taken the Bite and run.

But he hadn't. Stiles had interjected that evening, had risked his own life and had likely saved Peter's in the process.

As Peter watches the minutes pass by on the clock on his phone, he finally has to acknowledge that it rankles that he can't do anything to ensure Stiles' survival. In less than twelve hours, Stiles will either be dead, or Peter's phone will buzz with a text. Until then, Peter can't do anything but wait.

He turns dull eyes up to the lit windows of Deaton's vet office and sees the curtains move back just enough to notice. Peter looks up but makes no move to enter. Deaton can't see him, but the bastard clearly knows that he's there.

Peter breathes in the scent of distant chemicals and cleaners and listens to Derek's steady heartbeat within those walls. In his hand, the phone screen dims again and Peter looks down at the time.

Tossing the phone onto the seat beside him, he closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and sighs. It's going to be a long few hours until the sun rises.

\---

At some point Stiles must fall asleep because the next time he's awake there's daylight streaming in through half-closed blinds and Stiles sits up hastily, wakefulness slamming into him. He's not dead. He's not in pain. There's no black blood. At least none that he can see. His hand scrambles to pull his hoodie's sleeve up and==

The bite wound on his wrist is completely healed and there's no evidence of Peter's fangs ever having pierced his skin.

Supernaturally quick, Scott is next to him on the bed, eyes wide and a hesitant smile on his face as he looks over Stiles. Stiles' heart is beating rapidly.

"Whoa," Stiles breathes out. "Guess we're werewolf buddies now."

He's dazed. He's not sure how to process this. He's just glad that he isn't dead. That's what Stiles is focusing on. That's the main thing. The important thing.

"Yeah," Scott replies, sounding equally as dazed.

Stiles' next move is to grab at his phone and Scott gives him a very annoyed look that Stiles promptly ignores. He texts Peter four words that he knows are going to change his life forever:

> _So i'm not dead..._

Text sent, Stiles puts his phone down on the bed. A minute or so later, his Dad bursts into the room and Stiles can tell that his Dad hasn't had much sleep at all. Stiles knows it's because of him. He leaps off the bed and he's pulled into a tight Dad-hug, the kind that's only reserved for serious moments. There's so much relief inside of Stiles that he feels like he might burst.

He's not entirely sure what being a part of Peter's pack will all entail, but he'll find out? Allison is alive. If Stiles can keep track of Peter, maybe no on else has to die. That's something he can do. It's something he's _going_ to do.

Maybe this will drive a wedge between him and Scott and his Dad and probably Derek, but Stiles has his reasons and they hadn't been jealousy or the desire for power ( _or_ girls, c'mon, he's not that desperate). They'd been to protect the people he cares about. Maybe it's a dumb cliche, but it is what it is.

Stiles doesn't want Scott to be around when Peter shows up so he begs Scott to check in on Lydia and Scott begrudgingly agrees because they need to figure out what's up with her. Stiles really hopes she's one of the rare exceptions.

Peter and his Dad… Yeah, that's going to be a little awkward, but Stiles is determined. He'll play referee if need be. Because he's alive and he's a werewolf and he's going to need all the help he can get to make this work.

\---

Stiles' residence isn't difficult to find even without directions, because Stiles' scent has been superimposed in Peter's mind. It is a risk to go in broad daylight, but after a long night with little sleep, remaining as close to his injured Beta as possible under the infernal vet's thumb, Peter isn't in the mood to wait. Shadows had been beneficial while he'd struggled to recover in full, but things are different now.

Kate is dead, the Argents aren't, Peter's still Alpha, and he has a Beta that had survived The Bite. Things are vastly different.

The Stilinski residence is nothing particularly special in daylight, Peter notes as he parks in the driveway. The car isn't his, but the body in the trunk has at least been disposed of. Considering that Stiles' father is the Sheriff, it's safe to err on the side of caution.

Peter exits the vehicle, and in the light of day, he notes that there is still the hint of blood crusted around his fingernails, but it's a simple matter to pick it off in flakes. In a way, considering that Stiles had kept him from killing the Argent girl, Kate's blood lining his walkway is almost poetic. He looks around, listening, and while he does hear two heartbeats, and while he _had_ expected Scott to be here as well, Scott's scent is stale. It's one bitter thought off of Peter's mind.

Peter knocks at the door, because he is a civilized human being, but the heavier footsteps that approach the door first don't belong to Stiles. Peter straightens, but his gaze remains curious.

The Sheriff answers the door, his eyes pink-rimmed, his face unshaven. It makes Peter aware of the growth on his own cheeks, but he reasons that he likely doesn't look as bad as the Sheriff. One breath is all it takes for Peter to scent old tears and inflammation. The Sheriff had been crying, had lost sleep, but there's a lingering smell of elation and anger in his scent too. Despite being two seconds in to this introduction, Peter immediately understands.

"He told you, then."

"You're the guy?" The Sheriff asks tightly.

Peter considers him. "That's a very vague modifier. How much did he tell you?"

"Enough."

"Again, very vague," Peter comments.

There's a distant scuffling sound, like clumsy footsteps on the stairs, and Peter _feels_ his instincts give an appropriate lurch. The sensation is still new, still almost unpleasant. It is protective and attentive, all things that he had extended to Derek _and_ Scott, but Stiles had been the one to reciprocate.

Peter looks over the Sheriff's shoulder as his son comes tearing down the stairs. Peter cranes his neck to see, and it catches the Sheriff's attention.

Stiles skids to a halt at the doorway, his eyes wide and almost bright with relief - likely at being _alive_ \- but there's definitely a nervousness there as he darts a look between Peter and his dad.

"Hey, hey, no. Dad? Dad, c'mon," Stiles hisses, half-pleading. "Can you not? Not right now, I mean," he hastily amends as his father turns his ragged, rougher look back on him.

Stiles wets his lips and looks at Peter, and for a moment, there's something uncertain in his eyes. Then he soldiers on. "I need to talk to him. There's some… stuff I need to know."

"So he _is_ the one," Stiles' father aptly concludes, and Stiles winces.

"It's complicated?" Stiles offers up.

"I Bit him." Peter glances between the Sheriff - who turns back to him with unguarded fury and wariness in his eyes - and Stiles, who looks somehow horrified and exasperated at once. "I offered, and he accepted. And right now, given that he's going to be experiencing quite a few swings in what he considers 'normal', it'll be good for him if I'm here to help."

"Oh my god," Stiles mutters under his breath, sending Peter a look that tells him in no uncertain terms that Peter has just made things worse.

Peter ignores him. "I can talk to Stiles here, on the doorstep, in full view of the neighbors, or I can talk to him inside. I'm not unreasonable; this is your home, and I won't come in unless invited."

The Sheriff looks torn, as Peter had assumed he would. He looks back at his son, expression pinched, gaze still furious, but it becomes clear that he knows what the right answer is. Despite Stiles trying to cajole him, he breathes out hard through his nose and then takes a slow, pointed step away from the door.

"Just this once," the Sheriff says coldly. "You step a toe out of line, I'll shoot you. It might not be able to kill you, but I bet it'll still hurt like hell."

Peter, much to Stiles' apparent perplexion, smiles. "I can respect that," he offers, and takes a step inside the house.

\---

So, all in all, it _could_ have gone worse. Yeah, his Dad threatened to shoot Peter, but that's just a threat! The not following through part is what's important. His Dad is hovering in the entry way as Peter steps in and begins politely slipping off his shoes and coat. Before Stiles can offer to take it, Peter simply hangs his coat on an available hook. At least Peter is scoring a point on showing that he has manners - that's a positive.

"Dad," Stiles hisses, giving an obvious look to his Dad in the hope that his old man will vacate the area.

"What?"

"A little privacy?" Stiles asks hopefully.

His Dad looks between Peter and him and Peter seems to be attempting to put on his best mild-mannered 'I'm not a deranged wolf psychopath' look. Stiles is hoping that it's enough to convince his Dad because he definitely _doesn't_ want to have this conversation with his Dad sitting beside him. A young man needs his privacy when he's facing his new supernatural creature life.

After a somewhat awkward period of silence, his Dad sighs and looks like he's going to relent. "I'll be in the kitchen, and that's close to the living room. I'll be able to hear if my boy is in any trouble--"

"Okay, great idea, Dad," Stiles cuts in with a thumbs up before the Sheriff shoots Peter one last threatening look and stalks off to the kitchen.

"Yeah, so he's not your biggest fan," Stiles comments.

This has Peter snorting. "Yes, I gathered that, Stiles. Shall we be off to the living room, then?"

The word _shall_ sticks out and is begging to be made fun of, but Stiles isn't going to push his luck. He leads the way - not that it's a long way to lead - and as they enter the room, Stiles is then faced with a dilemma. Does he sit on the couch and risk Peter sitting next to him or does he sit in one of the chairs and forcibly create space between them?

Peter makes the decision for him as he saunters over to the couch, sits down, and then pats the cushion next to him as if beckoning a dog over.

Stiles feels a curious urge to actually obey and it's for that reason he stands there a moment longer and doesn't do anything. Is it their bond? Do they even have a bond yet? Can Peter like, Alpha mind control him?

 _No, stop._ He needs to just suck it up and and actually talk with Peter to figure out things versus extrapolate in his head, so Stiles does go over to the couch and he sits his ass down.

Without thought, he lifts the hoodie's sleeve up and bares his now-healed wrist to Peter. "So, yeah, guess it all worked out," Stiles says awkwardly with a half-smile on his face. What else does he say? He has no idea what a reasonable thing to say is in this situation.

Peter reaches out, and Stiles begins to jerk his wrist back on impulse before realizing he's being an idiot. Peter sends him a look and Stiles bites his tongue, letting Peter appear to look his wrist over. Peter's thumb touches the area he'd bitten, and Stiles watches, unsure what he's supposed to do.

"It took nicely," Peter says thoughtfully. "No lingering effects. Of course you'd be a natural."

Which brings up _more_ questions. Stiles manages to limit himself to one, but with way too much effort. "That can happen? _Not_ being a natural?"

Peter hums. "Yes. Certain wolves resist the effects even after turning. Scott did. Tell me, Stiles. Have you noticed anything different about your senses? Did you hear me coming before I knocked?"

Stiles visibly brightens. "Yeah, actually!" And he can't help as he turns to face Peter and even shifts slightly closer, clearly interested. He'd been so focused on the relief of _not_ dying that he hadn't exactly paid attention to much else.

Still, he feels obligated to at least give a token protest, because Scott is still his bro. "But Scott didn't resist anything. I know. I was there. He tried to kill me."

To Stiles' surprise, Peter actually rolls his eyes. "Yes, which proves my point. It took him too long to connect to his instincts. He's still hopeless. You've been a guaranteed wolf for all of a few hours, and you already heard me coming. As I said, you're a natural."

Stiles tries to pretend like that doesn't make him feel good, in some weird creepy way. It's hard. "So what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means you've got a brain in that skull of yours." Peter glances down at him, and Stiles feels his pulse skip. It's going to take awhile to stop seeing Peter trying to kill him every time Stiles looks at him. Baby steps. "It means that you'll be more connected to your instincts, which means you'll be more receptive to training."

There's a _look_ on Peter's face when he says that. Stiles is no expert on the many expressions of Peter Hale, but he knows when someone's not telling him everything. It drives his Dad nuts.

Stiles narrows his eyes. "... sensing a _'but'_ here."

"But," Peter acknowledges, "the timing of your change was not ideal."

"Go on?"

"The moon."

And, _oh_ , right, shit, Stiles had completely forgotten. Peter sends him a look that implies that that knowledge comes as no surprise.

"It's going to be in a week. You'll shift, just like most wolves do, but you don't have experience to anchor you. Left to your own devices, you'll lose control."

Something heavy feels like it's just fallen into Stiles' stomach. Helping Scott to figure shit out had been one thing, but going through it _himself_? That's another matter entirely. Besides, they'd had time to figure stuff out for Scott, and Stiles has a week?

"Tell me there's another 'but' here," Stiles hedges, throat tighter.

" _But_ you have an Alpha. And seeing as the people who were responsible for killing my family are dead, I'd rather you not maim anyone your first week on the job. Bad for business and all."

Despite his nerves, Stiles still snorts a soft, uncomfortable laugh. He can't believe this is his life. _Then_ he can't believe that snorting is enough to make his ears ring. He winces, and then startles when Peter lets go of his wrist. Stiles tenses, but Peter only puts a hand on the back of his neck and squeezes, which, _weird_ , but even weirder is that the pressure kind of helps to calm his anxiety. Stiles blinks.

"Neat trick. That an industry standard?"

"If you like. I'm your Alpha. What Scott can't seem to understand is that it's in my best interest to keep you - my Beta - happy. Wolves are only as strong as their packs, and packs are only as strong as the trust between an Alpha and their Betas. If I'm going to keep you from killing anyone, I need to keep you calm."

Which is… _so_ not a vote of confidence, but it does a great job of driving home how important this suddenly is to get right. Stiles nods, and while he isn't quite as excited as he had been a few minutes ago, he is more determined.

"Right, okay. So… I guess start with the basics, because that sudden sound thing was _painful_. Any way to keep that in check?"

And Peter, much to Stiles' curiosity, almost looks _pleased_ by the question. Stiles gets the feeling that he's going to be here for awhile.

\---

Stiles turns out to be a very quick learner. What the boy lacks in general intelligence, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm and inquisitiveness, and Peter winds up staying at the Stilinski residence far later than he'd intended.

He gives Stiles advice, explaining ways to ground himself in the wake of sudden sense-spikes, extols the virtues of running and exercise on a stressed mind, and shows Stiles how to grip the back of his own neck if it gets too much to handle. Stiles looks perplexed at that one, but upon trying it, his eyes brighten a little, and Peter finds himself smirking for the next few minutes as Stiles launches into a series of questions.

Peter helps Stiles control his hearing with quick snaps of his fingers, and - upon Stiles' request - Peter teaches him how to flash his eyes gold. It takes a while to tap into those instincts, but when Stiles manages it - and actually _sees_ the result in a mirror - the situation seems to drive itself home for him.

He agrees to let Peter come back more often, agrees that he definitely wants to learn all he can, and it's on that note that Peter takes his leave, ignoring the bitter glare that the Sheriff shoots his way as he exits the house.

Peter's first surprise arrives a day later when he sits down for breakfast at a diner and sees the newspaper lying on the table. To Peter's muted shock, it's the headline that draws his eyes. The headline that clearly states that Kate Argent is under investigation for the Hale House fire of six years ago. Her death is mentioned later, almost as an afterthought, and as Peter sits at the booth, he looks down at the newspaper for what is likely far too long.

He'd expected the Argents to sweep this under the rug. In truth, he's not sure why they hadn't. On one hand, it could be a peace offering, but even in that, Peter knows that it's merely a way for the Argent clan to clear their hands of any innocent blood spilled.

It takes him a long time to realize that a waitress has been trying to catch his attention, and he must look visibly unsettled, because there's concern in her eyes when she looks at him. Peter quickly snaps out of it, lifting his chin, smiling, and not bothering to spare her the charm as he places his order. Yet even as she smiles back at him, he can't help but think back on the article.

A peace offering, or a power play. An extended hand, or a hidden blade. Time will tell.

Peter's second surprise occurs later that day when he goes to visit Deaton's office. After a long day of getting his affairs in order and actually finding a place to _stay_ , he goes to the damnable vet in order to demand an audience with Derek. Upon arriving, however, Deaton is all thin-lipped smiles and false politeness as he explains that Derek checked himself out voluntarily late last night.

For a few minutes, Peter is thrown, torn between frustration and a grudging respect. Then understanding dawns. He takes his leave.

He finds Derek an hour later in the charred remnants of the Hale House. The police tape is easy enough to duck under, and Derek's scent - sharp with chemicals from the vet's office - is easy to follow.

Derek looks at him, blue eyes glinting in the dark and while he doesn't overtly relax when Peter flashes red eyes at him in response, there is a slight ease in the line of his shoulders. Still, Derek's expression is tight and unreadable. Peter can sense tension and wariness, but Derek only looks at him like he's three seconds from bolting.

Peter looks around at the charred walls and decrepit floorboards that creak ominously when he steps on them. Derek watches him, and when Peter turns back to his nephew, Derek's guard visibly goes up.

"First order of business is thcat I'm not letting any Beta of mine stay here. It's a wreck, Derek. Do you not have an apartment?"

Derek's eyebrows furrow deeper. "This is my home."

"This _was_ our home," Peter corrects sharply. "Now it's a skeleton, and it's time to bury it. Come on," he adds, tilting his head back towards the yellow police tape. "You'll live with me."

There's a flicker in Derek's eyes, something small and would-be-hopeful. Peter can almost visibly see his hackles lower. "You're not leaving?"

"I'm not leaving." Peter looks at him. "I have a new Beta to train here and family to start again with. But not here. I bought an apartment downtown. Well. More an apartment _building_. Long story. It could use repairs, and I remember that you're good with your hands, aren't you?"

Derek doesn't brighten, but the wariness in his posture eases significantly. He looks at Peter long and hard, quiet. Then he slowly nods. "I could do that. So-so Stiles--"

"Survived, yes. And is now a part of our pack."

Derek pulls a small face, but it fades when Peter lifts an eyebrow at him. Derek sighs. "I don't want to live with you."

"You'll have your own floor. Now will you come with me and stop sitting in the dirt? You're driving."

If Derek has a problem with it, he doesn't say so. Instead he does grab his keys, and when he lays eyes on the multi-floor apartment building in a quiet part of town, built sturdy and to _last_ , Peter doesn't just imagine the small touch of a smile that tugs at Derek's lips.

\---

The next few days are uneventful save for learning that Lydia _isn't_ a werewolf, but she's also not dying. It's amazingly good news and despite Peter's wariness - something about claiming that it's _not_ supposed to work like that - Stiles is relieved. They deserve a win, okay?

But Peter also tells him to be on guard, explaining that there's more than meets the eye concerning Lydia. Stiles agrees, but only because _he'd_ rather do it than allow Peter ever near her again.

Stiles' Dad is in a tough position. Stiles can't even imagine having your only kid be turned into a werewolf and then need to hang out with an older dude who just so happened to recently be killing people around the town. Stiles tries to smile and assure him that it's going to be okay - that _he's_ okay - and that he believes Peter _isn't_ a psychopath, but he's pretty sure only time can help that one.

The Sheriff does give Peter a rather embarrassing 'you'd better not do anything untoward my son' talk and Stiles' cheeks burn because _really?_ Stiles can't see Peter being interested in a gangly teen like him anyway… Peter, thankfully, takes it in stride and over the next few days when Peter does show up and visit - in the evenings so Stiles' Dad is there - it actually goes pretty well. No one gets shot.

Things with Scott are pretty tense. But Stiles is sure Scott is also stressed because of Allison and the fact that she knows what he is _and_ that her father is a hunter _and_ that Peter killed her aunt _and_ now Stiles is hanging out with Peter. It's kind of a big mess and Stiles knows that Scott will never understand why he'd made this choice so he eventually stops trying to explain himself.

As the full moon approaches, Stiles is aware that he begins to feel _different._ His enhanced senses begin to suddenly flare up more often and it's so intense that it has him wincing and trying to cover his ears or shield his eyes. Needless to say, it's not pleasant. But he remembers Peter's words - that he needs to breathe and stay calm - so Stiles focuses hard on keeping things under control.

He's also more agitated and uncomfortable and it genuinely sucks. Complaining to Peter via text doesn't get him anywhere, however, so Stiles stops.

His Dad is sympathetic at first, but after Stiles snarls back one evening, the Sheriff raises his voice and informs Stiles that he can be a tempermental werewolf, but he still needs be a _respectful_ temperamental werewolf.

Stiles is going with Peter on the night of the full moon. Scott had tried to dissuade him, insisting that _he_ could ensure that Stiles would be safe. And Stiles is tempted - after all, he'd helped chain Scott up that first time- but it just seems kinda _right_ to be with Peter for this.

Stiles insists that he can drive himself to Peter's, so he does. Maybe he's a little tense as he drives, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel too tight, but Stiles doesn't hit anything, at least and he doesn't accidentally tear off his wheel or the clutch.

Parked outside the large older apartment complex, Stiles takes a deep breath as he pockets the Jeep's keys in his jeans. Stiles had been given the door code and he runs up to it, punching it in and enters. He's nervous, both because he's going to be alone with Peter and then because this is his first full moon and what if he messes up? Stiles doesn't want to hurt anyone. He doesn't want to become some ravenous monster.

There's an elevator, but he's got the energy and ability, so Stiles takes the stairs. It feels good to be jogging up them and not getting winded. It helps burn off some anxiety as he works his way up to the top floor because of course Peter would need to be on the top floor. He's breathing a little quicker, but it's not as laborious as it would have been if Stiles _hadn't_ been a werewolf.

By the time Stiles is at Peter's floor, Peter is already waiting there to greet him.

Peter looks him over once and Stiles feels irritation prickle under his skin. It's a weird mix, feeling stressed and restless while also acknowledging the small tug of _right_ in his chest.

Of course, it all fades when Peter says, "you look awful," and then steps aside, beckoning him in.

Stiles feels tension settle low inside of his chest and he shoots Peter a quick glare, because as much as he and Peter have been making the last week work, Stiles can't really forget that Peter is an ass. It's still awkward, still uncomfortable, because he can't just ignore what Peter has done.

Still, Peter has kept his word, so as Stiles steps inside and he hears Peter close and lock the door behind him, he bites his tongue and keeps walking.

"How are you feeling?"

"Peachy." Stiles' thumb taps rhythmically at his thigh. "Just peachy. So, oh mighty leader, what's the plan?"

"The plan is to keep you from killing anyone." Peter sweeps in past him, leading the way into a large room that looks a little like it might have been an artist's loft at one point. Stiles doesn't look at it too long, just long enough to note a slightly more upscale sofa, and drapes that don't match the rest of the room. It's a fixer-upper, then.

Peter clears his throat and Stiles nods, snapping back to himself. "Sounds like a good plan. How's that going to work? No offense, but if a radiator couldn't hold Scott while he was chained up, I don't think your curtains are going to hold me."

Peter blinks and then looks back at him, one eyebrow raising.

Stiles is pretty sure that Peter is judging him, but it's hard to tell. Peter's entire expression always looks judgy. Stiles narrows his eyes just in case. "What?"

"I'm not going to hold you with the _curtains_ , Stiles," Peter drawl. Yeah, Peter's definitely judging him. "If we need it, there's a basement with support beams and concrete. And chains. Derek has them, just in case."

Which makes sense. Derek is Peter's nephew. It makes sense that Derek is his Beta too, but it still catches Stiles a little off guard. He's not sure why, but he'd assumed that it'd just be him and Peter tonight.

Some of his thoughts must show on his face because Peter rolls his eyes. Stiles isn't sure how he makes it look so dramatic every single time.

"Derek won't interrupt us unless he needs to. _He_ can control the shift, and giving you conflicting input on your first full moon would be suicide."

Stiles' expression pinches more, but this time in confusion. He's silent, then can't really stop himself.

"If you're not chaining me up, and if Derek's not going to be involved, then what _are_ you going to do, exactly?"

Peter's lips tug into the faintest of smirks, and the expression is not reassuring in any way. Stiles feels his pulse pick up.

"Follow me," Peter says, and Stiles feels his stomach sink. Those words can't be good.

\---

"Are you serious?"

Peter looks back over his shoulder once they reach the doorway to his bedroom. Stiles, tense, twitchy, and uncomfortable, darts quick looks between Peter and the bed in the room. Peter's not really sure where Stiles' mind has gone, but he thinks he can hazard a guess. Really, between the Sheriff and Stiles, he's going to develop a complex eventually.

"You'll do better in an enclosed space your first night," Peter explains drily. "Eventually the goal will be to let you roam freely; it's better for you to burn out your energy like that on full moons, but not for the first few. Keeping you safe, contained, and around pack is paramount."

Stiles still looks over the room suspiciously. Then, eyeing Peter, he walks into the room cautiously. "They teach you that in some Handy Dandy Werewolf Training Manual?"

"Yes. Otherwise known as 'Personal Experience'. Are you done being difficult?"

"Depends. Is this _your_ room?"

Peter turns his eyes briefly to the ceiling. "Yes, Stiles. But if you'd _prefer_ that I send you to Derek for him to chain you up, I will. I'm sure he'd delight in doing it."

 _That_ seems to work, at least. Stiles blanches a little, then hastily shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, turning to lean back against the wall. Peter can see his hands fidgeting in his pockets, and considering that even Peter has begun to sense the effects of the full moon pressing on his mind, he knows that Stiles must be feeling it too.

"So," Stiles says, after an uncomfortable moment. "What's… going to like, actually _happen_ to me? I've only seen Scott go through this, and lemme tell you, it wasn't pretty."

"That's because Scott's a moron." Peter steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He ignores Stiles' indignant look as he points to the armchair in the room, then lifts his eyebrows. " _Sit_ , and we'll talk."

Stiles sits, though with a slightly mutinous expression. "Scott's not a moron."

"Agree to disagree. Do you want information or don't you?"

Stiles' mouth - which had opened to undoubtedly shoot something back - closes with a click of his teeth. He frowns, then nods, crossing his arms over his chest. His leg, Peter notices, is still jiggling.

Peter waits for long enough to make sure that Stiles is going to stay quiet. Then he walks over to the window of his bedroom, pulling it shut. Best not to tempt fate.

"As the night goes on, you'll feel more and more uncomfortable. Restless, like you'd like nothing more in the world than to run around or instigate a fight. Your senses will steadily increase, until they feel almost overwhelming, and traditionally, without an Alpha to assist, that is when Betas begin to go rogue," Peter explains, drawing the curtains until only a slim line of moonlight filters into the room.

Stiles' foot begins to tap. He smells nervous, and his pulse has definitely spiked. He swallows. "I thought you were supposed to help with that."

"I'm not saying that I won't. I'm just not about to lie to you. The shift can be _incredibly_ uncomfortable, especially during your first moon."

There's a long, slightly-uncomfortable silence as this sinks in, minus the sound of the tapping of Stiles' foot. Peter ignores it.

"Am I going to hurt anyone?"

The question is tight, clearly reluctant, like the very idea goes against everything that Stiles believes in. For all that Peter knows, it does.

Still, he shrugs. "You could. I could lose control over you and accidentally let you out, but there's a slim chance of that happening. If you try to escape, and try to hurt someone, I'll stop you. Simple as that."

"Riiiiight..."

It's apparent that Stiles doesn't seem all-too comforted by his words but Peter isn't about to coddle his Beta with fake platitudes. He's always believed a straightforward approach works best. Given how long this evening is shaping up to be, he'll need to ration out his patience, anyway.

\---

It's more than a little weird to be waiting around in Peter's room hoping that he doesn''t crazy wolf out. It's not that Stiles doesn't think Peter would be able to stop him either, it's just that… relying on Peter is still new. Sure, this past week Peter has come through and explained and taught him things, but now it's the big game, so to speak. This is where he's really trusting Peter.

The restlessness only grows and more than a few times Stiles hazards a glance at the window where the moonlight is streaming in. Peter gives a few dramatic sighs, as if waiting for Stiles to do or say something, but Stiles can only wait. Yeah, maybe Peter had explained things, but the idea that Stiles could still lose control doesn't sit well with him.

Because he's putting his trust in _Peter Hale_. The guy who had killed people only a week ago. Killed. As in _dead_. As in ripping their throats out, and leaving them mangled or dumped in car trunks. That's who Stiles is hedging all his bets on.

Stiles doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, muscles tight and heart racing, when something suddenly… changes. He doesn't know what it is, all he knows is that it's _sudden_. One moment he's sitting there, irritated at Peter and at life in general, and then it's like he can't breathe.

Stiles is immediately aware of the moon, and his skin feels like someone's pressed a hot iron to it. He hisses sharply and begins to stand. Staggering, disoriented, Stiles gives his hands a hard shake, because the joints ache like he's suddenly old and abused. Distantly, in the back of his mind, Stiles thinks about calling out, but the words aren't there. He doesn't know who he'd call for, doesn't know where he is. All he knows is that he wants to get the Hell away from where he is, that he wants to run and claw at anything in his way.

There's a sound in his ears, something low and irritating, and Stiles growls - honest-to-God- _growls_ \- when he feels his arms being grabbed at. And excuse me? No. He doesn't want to be grabbed at. He twists, pressing himself back against the chair, and he lashes out without thinking, without feeling.

His hands - his _claws_ \- catch on something that resists, and Stiles thinks he hears something, a low, hissed sound, and then the scent of blood floods his senses. Stiles turns towards it, and his jaw aches as it starts to feel too small for his teeth, which is a weird feeling. Everything is just sharper and confusing, and lashing out seems like the only appropriate thing to do.

Then, before he can snarl or lash out again, suddenly there's a dizzying flip and the world switches orientation. The chair that he'd been hiding against is suddenly something hard and wooden, striking his cheek. He has a second to be dazed, to think _floor_ , and then there's a weight on his back, shoving him down. He struggles, panicked, but then he hears it - a low, rumbling growl that all but vibrates through him - and Stiles' panic eases into a shocked hopefulness.

He stills, panting, disoriented, and confused, and then he feels a tightness at his nape, something pinching and solid and impossible to move, but understanding filters into his mind.

Like something's just ripped holes in the blanket over his senses, Stiles breathes in the scents around him and picks out blood, leather, and forest. He can taste the scents on the back of his tongue, but more than that, they combine into something familiar and right.

 _Alpha_. _Peter_. The thought grabs at Stiles' mind, and at something deeper. Something that fills him with a sense of uneasy calm, like he's just hopped up onto a tightrope instead of falling and splatting to his death. It's a thin grip of control, but it's something. He breathes hard, the world over-bright and uncertain, but he feels contained.

Because Peter is there, and Stiles can smell him and feel him, and fuck, he's never been so glad to have a homicidal werewolf shoving his face into the floor.

"There there, feisty pup," Peter says and it sounds condescending or chiding, but knowing Peter, it's probably both.

"I'm fine!" Stiles sputters out and talking feels weird from the fangs. He doesn't like it. Stiles struggles just to prove that he can, but Peter's weight on top of him is unmovable and it has Stiles relaxing because he's _not_ going to be escaping and hurting anyone.

"Yes, you're fine _now,_ after I've pinned you to the floor and _before_ you could get into any trouble."

Stiles thinks Peter sounds smug, but it's sort of difficult to sort out his observations with Peter laying on top of him and talking so close to his ear. Stiles also is dealing with the fact that he has legit claws and fangs and he knows what color his eyes are.

"What? You want a gold star? A medal?"

Peter laughs and Stiles can practically hear the eye roll that accompanies it. "No, Stiles, you've already shown me all I need to know."

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"My proximity _does_ help you."

It's now Stiles realizes that he actually _does_ feel better. He's still restless and uneasy, but he's no longer trying to bolt for the door or window. He's not vibrating with anger and energy. And it's because Peter - his Alpha - is near him.

Well, fine. It's good that they know, right? Right.

\---

It takes time to get Stiles up off of the floor, and plenty of trial and error.

Despite Peter's attempts with Scott, this is the first time that he's had a new Beta actually respond to him. Scott had always ignored the pull of his instincts, to an insulting degree. He's made it clear that he doesn't want to be Peter's Beta, so Peter is here this night with Stiles. Derek is downstairs, and Peter can feel the tenuous link between them, but Derek doesn't _need_ him. Not like Stiles does.

The first few times Peter lets him go, Stiles begins to slip again. It's a struggle, bringing him back, fielding the questions, the uncertainty, but soon enough, Peter figures out a way. He doesn't release contact with Stiles as he gets back up onto his feet. Stiles isn't comfortable with it, but even he can see the benefit in a lack of madness.

Peter keeps Stiles' arms pinned with his own until they're both back up onto their feet. While sitting Stiles down on the couch would be beneficial, Peter immediately knows that the positioning won't work. So, though he spares a silent sigh to the comments he's sure to get after, he leads Stiles over to his bed.

Stiles, predictably, is not fond of the idea. Peter rolls his eyes and sits down anyway, drawing Stiles down with him. Peter half-pins Stiles' arms behind his back and keeps him there, and while he can scent Stiles' frustration and embarrassment, Peter ignores it. Stiles' control is paramount here.

The higher the moon gets in the sky, the more Stiles' pulse quickens, but with Peter's hold tight, he doesn't lose control again. A few times, he squirms uncomfortably, but Peter growls and Stiles settles. It's definitely more contact than either of them had anticipated, but as the moon peaks in its zenith and begins to edge its way down, even Peter has to admit that he feels oddly settled.

The pounding in his instincts, the emptiness that's been plaguing him since Kate's death… they seem inconsequential with Stiles there. Stiles, for his part, looks significantly less strained with the moon high in the sky.

Eventually Stiles begins to talk, asking soft questions about how to keep his control, and Peter humors him. He explains that instinct is one reason that wolves lose control on the full moon. It's a lack of order, of stability. With an Alpha here, minding him, Stiles is likely to be able to not only keep his control, but learn even faster.

To Peter's surprise, Stiles actually does ask to learn as the night progresses. Stiles' eyelids are half-closed by the time he asks, and it's clear that the night is wearing on him. More in an attempt to keep Stiles awake than anything else, Peter agrees. He winds up freeing Stiles' arms, and while he _is_ cautious, he offers his own hand and begins to show Stiles what muscles to tense and what instincts to tap into in order to slide his claws out.

Stiles throws himself into it. It takes him a few tries to figure out how to do it, and then even longer to grasp the concept of controlling himself enough to sheathe them after. He manages to do it three times, which is, admittedly, _much_ more advanced than Peter had expected Stiles to be with only a week of experience under his belt.

Despite the proximity, and despite the long, slightly-draining evening, it's been a long, _long_ time since Peter has felt this settled. And when the first hazy pink trails of the coming dawn cut subtly through the black of the night, and Peter feels Stiles sag back against him. Apparently the feeling is mutual.

\---

Full moons, Stiles has discovered, are _exhausting_. Despite making it through with 'flying colors', as Peter had told him after Stiles had woken up, no one had thought to warn him that he'd wind up feeling like a shitstain on hot asphalt afterwards.

And considering that he'd woken up, propped up against Peter's chest, that's saying something.

He still leaves after, gathering himself up into a pile of sore limbs and aching muscles, but Stiles wants to check in with Dad. He has five messages - mostly from his Dad - and going back home to see him is honestly exactly what he needs.

Because there's a solid hug waiting for him, and anxious questions over whether he'd hurt anyone, and Stiles can _honestly_ say that Peter had done what he'd said. He'd kept Stiles in check, had kept him in control, and despite being sore and exhausted, Stiles feels almost fit to burst with pride.

Which is why he kind of gives Peter more credit over the following weeks. Scott, Stiles isn't surprised to note, still doesn't trust Peter. Stiles isn't sure he does either, some days, but Peter does actually do what he says he will which is both aggravating and calming.

Because if Peter tells Stiles that if he doesn't shut up, he's going to throw Stiles across the room, he does it. But if he tells Stiles _exactly_ how to bring his panic back down after a sudden scare, he also manages to do it. It's a weird relationship, because Stiles doesn't necessarily trust Peter, but he also doesn't _not_ trust him. It's complicated.

But life goes on as it does and Stiles gradually adjusts to the changes. Peter makes a surprisingly good Alpha, and while there are small issues that pop up here and there, they're quickly dealt with. Stiles' Dad isn't pleased about any of this, but with the reinstated Hale pack and help from the Argents (though they rarely get involved), life actually gets kind of better,

Peter sticks around, is the thing. He does what he'd said he would, and while Stiles wouldn't claim that Peter's necessarily his _friend,_ he's definitely not an enemy or stranger. Derek and Scott still aren't pleased that Stiles is a werewolf, but it can't be changed, so over the months and little by little, the other werewolves _do_ seem to get over what Stiles is.

Stiles turns eighteen. He celebrates with his friends and his Dad. He eats way too much cake but the rush of sugar and carbs aren't going to be the death of him. He's young and excited about life, excited about his future. Stiles doesn't really know if he _feels_ like an adult - if he feels any different than he did the day before - but whatever. It's not necessarily important.

Peter finds him at a place that Stiles doesn't let anyone accompany him to - his mom's grave. Stiles isn't surprised by Peter joining him. Their bond is pretty strong by now. As long as they're receptive, they can feel each other's proximity. It's like a tug, but it's not forceful.

"Interesting place to conclude the evening's festivities," Peter comments as he comes to stand next to Stiles like it's not weird at all to be standing in a graveyard.

Stiles remembers tensing when Peter used to come up to him, but he doesn't anymore and he doesn't now. Peter feels eerily familiar to him, like a well-used blanket almost (not that Stiles would ever confess that to his Alpha).

"She got sick," Stiles says softly. Despite his current location, Stiles doesn't exactly feel depressed. It feels right that he's here and visiting and it also feels right that Peter is beside him.

"A form of dementia that hits young," Stiles goes on, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "It's genetic." This is said quieter.

"And you used to worry that it could be passed on to you," Peter infers.

This has Stiles turning to look up at Peter, expression confused. "I _still_ worry about it."

"Still?" Peter looks at him, and while it's subtle, there's a quick spark of confusion in his eyes. "You can't inherit genetic illnesses. Not as a werewolf."

Stiles blinks. His jaw clenches. He then swallows. This weight has been on him for years, ever since he'd looked into what his Mom had had. But this new information that Peter has given him. It seems too good to be true.

" _What_?" Is all he can say.

"Not as a _werewolf_ ," Peter repeats, slower and precise, like Stiles is an idiot. Like the same way Peer had asked ' _do you want the Bite?_ ' all those months ago. "I assumed that would have been obvious."

"Oh." Stiles tries to process this. He then thinks of telling his Dad this and how relieved he'll be. His lips curve into a grin, his whole face brightening. "That's awesome then."

"Quite." Peter sends Stiles a look. "You mean to tell me that you've been sitting on that for over a year? Why didn't you just ask?"

"There was so many other things to ask about!" Stiles squawks back indignantly, his hands coming out of pockets so he can gesture at Peter. "I didn't think to mention my medical concerns to you."

"Clearly an oversight on your part." Peter's tone is sarcastic, but after a moment, he reaches out, and Stiles feels Peter's hand settle on the back of his neck. It's warm, and heavier than usual, almost like Peter is intentionally guiding him closer.

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but then Peter is leaning in and Stiles knows what's going to happen next - Peter is going to kiss him. Stiles _could_ pull away. Stiles could scream like a girl.

But he doesn't. There's nothing about this that Stiles _doesn't_ actually want. Instead, his eyes half-close and he meets Peter, their mouths brushing in a strangely soft kiss.

"Well that oversight got you a kiss," Stiles murmurs after pulling away. His hands come to rest on Peter's hips, fingers bunching the fabric of yet another pretentious v-neck shirt. It looks like he now has more things to be excited about.

"Oh, the oversight had nothing to do with it," Peter says, and while he looks casual, Stiles can hear the faintest of tremors in his voice. "I was going to kiss you anyway. You merely provided an opportunity."'

Stiles decides to shut Peter up with another kiss. He's fairly certain this tactic is going to become routine for them.


End file.
